


As You Were

by Whitnium



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 22:39:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17927726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whitnium/pseuds/Whitnium
Summary: Flynn meets Estellise.For Nightfoot!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably a little rough around the edges because, try as I might, I'm still really bad at this.
> 
> So sorry if it’s tropey and a little ridiculous but I will go down with this ship or so help me. 
> 
> whitnium.tumblr.com

Flynn's captain is more than a little incredulous to his request. 'Why do you want to learn healing artes? Let the bishops handle that.' Flynn will not accept the answer no matter how many times the man repeats it, however, and after the third attempt in as many days his Captain finally relents and produces a book on healing arte theory with one stipulation: 'you learn this on your own time, Scifo, not mine.'

He is alone on the training grounds early the next morning, several hours before his shift and before even the most motivated of his comrades have stumbled from morning mess. The open space is eerily quiet but Flynn is grateful for it, because even the paradoxical sound of the silence is grating on his nerves as he stares at the damned book, his brow knit in frustration.

The formula is not a difficult one; compared to the offensive artes he knows it appears elementary, but his attempts to produce the magic have been frustratingly inconsistent for the better part of an hour. It is as if the words on the page have all turned archaic and his brain can no longer decipher them. Sometimes he can recreate the formula, but the magic dies somewhere before it reaches his blastia; other times he barely manages to ready the spell before it becomes a mess in his head and he loses it.

He studies the formula on the page for quite possibly the hundredth time before snapping the book shut, places it on the ground at his feet. He squares his shoulders and readies his stance; the magic circle hums to life beneath him and he works the magic in his head, prepared to brute force the spell through sheer force of will if he needs to. He feels the spell take hold but the glyph that bursts from his blastia is deformed in shape and fragile in consistency. The healing magic he does manage to generate feels like tiny pricks against his skin, useless.

Flynn sighs and shakes his head, unwilling to admit defeat but feeling supremely irritated. There is a curse on his lips that he swallows, not wanting to disturb the silence; another voice, however, does so in his stead.

"Um... excuse me?"

Softly spoken at his back, but resoundingly loud in the empty yard. Flynn whirls on his heel and freezes when he sees the owner of the voice; his training takes over almost immediately  and he snaps to attention, one arm to his chest in a salute.

"Your Highness."

The princess bows gently at the waist, dismissing him. Flynn allows his arm to fall to his side but maintains his assertive stance; protocol dictates that he keep his vision focused somewhere in the middle distance. 

"Please, call me Estellise."

Flynn stiffens as if the suggestion were something scandalous. His resolve weakens after a prolonged battle with her unwavering gaze and he offers at last: "Lady Estellise."

She laughs at him, though not unkindly. The sound releases the rigidity from his stance and he relaxes into something akin to parade rest. 

"Isn't it a little early for a stroll across the parade ground, Your Highness?"

Flynn blanches slightly when he realizes his tone is practically conversational, but the princess seems neither to notice nor care about the mounting lapses in propriety.

"I could say the same about you."

It is a perfect riposte, not one he was expecting, and he defers to her with an incline of his head.

His introduction to the princess when he moved to the castle several months ago was a brief one: nothing more than a reaffirmation of his knightly creed to the royal family and a stern instruction to always maintain decorum. She was every bit the noble figure that he expected of an heir to the throne, if not somewhat distant, a faraway look in her eyes. She could not be more different here in this private moment, radiating tenacity in the absence of her regalia, and Flynn realizes that she is sharing said private moment in _his_ company with equal parts exhilaration and dread.

"Have I said something wrong?"

Her statement reels in Flynn's wandering thoughts and he registers too late that he is staring at her. He desperately tries to save face, but the response falls comically flat: "I'm sorry?"

"You were staring at me."

Flynn's attempt at an explanation devolves into a series of noncommittal noises and suddenly she is smiling at him in an extremely endearing way and he is fairly certain that his face is going to freeze in a permanent fixture of stupefaction.

"I'm surprised to see a knight learning healing magic," the princess says at last, deftly saving him from further humiliation. "Perhaps I can--" she grasps his hand as she speaks as if it were the most natural thing in the world and Flynn goes instantly tense, images of his pending execution flashing before his eyes. His mortification must be evident on his face because she pauses mid sentence and pulls her hand back.

"Is something the matter?"

Flynn wonders blithely how the answer to said question could be affirmative and negative all at once.

"Perhaps I can help you?"

Her words float around for a moment, innocuous, until they crash into Flynn with concussive force and he nearly gives himself whiplash in his haste to step away from her. One of his duties as a knight is fealty to the royal family, but he is fairly certain that does _not_ include fraternizing with one of them, especially not _her_ , certainly not _here_ , definitely not doing _this._

"I'm not sure if..." His voice trails off as he realizes she has wandered to his periphery and turns to see her thumbing through his abandoned book of magic theory.

"Oh! I know this one!" She whirls back to him, a smile bright on her face.

Her expression squelches any hope Flynn has of any further resistance and he manages a very strangled response: "oh?"

"Yes." She traces the formula with one finger for a moment before closing the book and tucking it under her arm."It's slightly different from how I learned it, but the end result should be the same, I think." A pause as she considers her offer: "would you like me to teach you?"

He _should_ say no; being in such close proximity to her without at least three more links of the chain of command between them will put him on the express route to a court martial should even the rumor of an indiscretion arise, but his tongue moves before his brain can execute any disruptive logic and he replies, barely above a whisper: "okay."

She beams at his response, ecstatic, before her expression settles just as quickly into one of deep concentration. "Healing artes are harder to focus than offensive artes. If you try and overdo it the formula just sputters out."

She grasps his hand again and before Flynn's brain can register an objection a magic circle forms beneath her feet. He can feel the gentle tingle of the aer across his skin. The glyph flashes between them, hers utterly perfect compared to his caricature, and the healing arte hits him with force. The magic radiates a gentle warmth from his chest that dissipates through his fingertips with a heavy sensation, as if he were walking through water.

"Think of your magic like a candle. You have to ensconce it, but you can't smother it. Does that make sense?"

Absolutely nothing makes sense in Flynn's head at the moment; his body is currently on a different plane of existence, his brain unable to retrieve it.

"I found that it's difficult to practice on yourself," she continues. "Try on me."

Flynn has no hope of accepting _that_ request with any modicum of dignity and sputters in mixture of surprise and embarrassment. "I couldn't do that! What if--"

He can picture it now: idiot lower quarter knight kills Imperial heir, execution to begin at dawn.

"Don't worry!" she replies, unflappably earnest.

Flynn's sigh contains an entire requiem for his career and he secretly hopes that his hesitation will change her mind. "I can't promise that I'll be very good..."

"Just remember what I told you. You'll do fine."

She presents her hand to him and he stares at it for a heartbeat, tries unsuccessfully to convince himself that he is not a rookie lieutenant currently in miles over his head and that she is not one of the most important people in the Empire, but his attempt at self-assurance is wholly unsuccessful. He takes her hand cautiously, and only a resolve born of years of training allows him to keep his focus when all of his inner thoughts are suddenly permutations of the phrase 'run away, you idiot.'

The magic circle doesn't appear until he relaxes with a deep and shuddering breath and closes his eyes. It takes a moment to conjure the formula in his mind and he holds it there, focuses his efforts as she suggested, gentle but precise. The power hangs sluggishly somewhere in his chest for a second before he can feel it coalesce and burst through his blastia. Light burns bright against his closed eyes and he hazards a glance; it is far from her perfected execution, but the glyph is clearer than it has ever been. Gentle tendrils of light encase her arm; she closes her eyes for a moment and Flynn holds his breath, convinced she's going to collapse or explode in a shower of sparks or any number of other terrible things.

"That was good," the princess offers at length. "You'll get the hang of it in no time. Would you like to try again?"

At last Flynn's brain comes to attention before the rest of him: "I--no, no I couldn't possibly..."

Her face falls a little, though she recovers just as quickly. "Oh!"

Her exclamation startles Flynn more than he would like to admit and his eyes circle the empty area frantically.The grounds are still empty and he has to force the adrenaline out of his brain with an effort that makes him wince.

"I'm sorry! It's just... I never got your name."

"... Flynn Scifo," he replies after a brief hesitation.

"Alright." She produces the book from where she tucked it under her arm and offers it to him. "You should come see me again if you need help, okay, Flynn?"

His name hovers between them like something tangible; the implications of her using it so casually are frighteningly real and Flynn is both intrigued and terrified all at once. The book changes hands and he lets his fingers linger a little longer than necessary, surprised both at himself and at her as she reciprocates the touch. He should run, should genuflect and make his escape; in spite of himself he smiles, and she returns a glittering one in kind.

"Yes, Your Highness."


	2. Chapter 2

Flynn is sharing the training grounds with half a dozen others this morning. The cavernous space affords them all ample room, which is to his preference. He is the outsider here in the castle, a ruffian from the streets with the audacity to believe that he can make something out of his low-born status. None of the members of his platoon subscribe to this view—he trusts them all implicitly—but the knights in the castle are not prone to esprit de corps. The old blood of nobility is fonder of loyalty to oneself over any semblance of solidarity.

Their indifference whets his blade, strengthens his resolve. Flynn’s goals are far loftier than simply rubbing elbows with aristocracy; he wouldn’t be training here ceaselessly otherwise.

He shifts to a defensive stance and begins to cycle through different guards in a rhythm, holds each one for a breath before moving to the next. All his concentration is fixed on the motions; he does not notice the looming presence off to his right for several moments until a stern rapport in his ear draws his attention.

“Lieutenant?”

Flynn pauses halfway to a hanging guard and turns his head toward the voice only to unconsciously quirk an eyebrow and stare, nonplussed. The person he sees does not match the voice he heard; Estellise hides a smile behind a raised hand but remains otherwise silent. Flynn takes sight of her companion—the source of the voice-and tension knots behind his breastbone: Drake Dropwart,knightly hero, patriot of Zaphias. The grizzled old soldier is not much for protocol anymore and does not move to dismiss his subordinate; Flynn relaxes after a moment, sheathes his sword before he turns.

“Master Drake?”

“Ah yes… Scifo, was it?”

“Sir.”

“Good. Lieutenant, I must request something of you. I’m afraid rather pressing matters have cut my lesson with Her Highness short this morning. Please escort her to her room, as I am needed elsewhere with urgency.”

“Yes, sir.”

Drake responds with an affirmative sound, excuses himself across the courtyard at Flynn’s back. The princess watches the retreat, seems to count the steps until the man is out of earshot, and relays her excitement to Flynn with an infectious smile.

“Hello, Flynn.”

He considers several different responses, decides to keep his tone neutral. “Lady Estellise.”

"Enjoying another morning stroll?” 

A smile draws across Flynn's face as he realizes she has seen through his bluff. “Not so much that I can deny a lady her escort.”

Her laugh is melodious and he regrets to hear it end.

"Why were you with Master Drake?”

“He is teaching me swordplay.”

“I see. That’s why you were here … the first time we met?”

Estellise smiles ambiguously: “I’ve been taking lessons for several weeks and I’ve seen you here almost every morning. When I saw you practicing magic, I was curious. I hope you don’t mind?”

“—Mind? No, of course not.”

She holds out her arm dramatically, slightly crooked at the elbow, and gestures to it with her other hand. “Well, then, lieutenant? Shall you escort me?”

Flynn is sure his face achieves a previously unknown shade of scarlet and he shakes his head as if to dislodge the color. “I can’t—”

“I don’t mind.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about, Your Highness.”

She tilts her head, eyes him curiously. He dismisses her unspoken question with a smile and she seems to accept it after a moment.

“Alright, then,” she drops her arm, clasps her hands in front of her. “Walk with me?”

"As you wish."

She leads him out of the training ground and across the courtyard and eventually into the castle proper without a word, but the silence is not an unpleasant one. She appears instead to be enjoying his presence; her steps are slow and her route through the halls is circuitous.

“Lady Estellise, may I ask you something?”

“Of course!”

“How do you know healing artes?”

She is quiet for several steps as if seriously considering her answer. At last she presents her left arm to him without breaking stride; there is a blastia nestled within a beautiful gold filigree around her wrist. Flynn stares at it, for a moment unsure exactly what she is trying to convey. “Is Master Drake teaching you healing artes as well?”

“…No.” She draws her hand away; her tone suggests there is more to the answer than this simple negation, but she does not elaborate. “I taught myself.”

“Really?” Flynn thinks back to when they first met, only days ago, and how lost he was with the simplest of theories. “That’s incredible.”

Distantly: “well, I read all about it in books. It’s easy when you have… all this time to yourself.”

She pauses and Flynn turns to her; there is a turbulence in her eyes, a thinly veiled sadness to her features.

“It can’t be easy,” he hazards the statement and only continues as he sees she does not resent him for it. “Not having any freedom?”

A gentle sigh, a sagging of her shoulders. “I’ve lived my entire life in this castle as someone’s ward, or under someone’s charge. I can’t even be trusted to walk somewhere alone.” She adds this last part ruefully, a tone he did not expect from her.

“If you’re expecting to give me the proverbial slip, Your Highness—”

His attempt at humor appears to mollify her, though her smile does not reach her eyes. “It’s different with you, Flynn.”

This time the lieutenant gives pause. Part surprise, part admiration: “why?”

She continues down the hall away from him for several more steps and stops beside an ornate door. Her eyes linger on the knob and she traces the intricate brass fixture with one finger, obviously hesitating.

“You’re not like the rest of them. The other knights, I mean. They’re just so… stuffy. ‘Yes, Your Highness’ and ‘no, Your Highness’ and … nothing else.” She turns the knob with sudden force and drops her hand, lets the door swing open slowly and silently. “It’s exhausting, to always be kept at a distance. To be treated like some… object.”

Her words draw him closer, though his feet move of a volition that is not his own. There is a heavy weight in his chest, more than just empathy. As she finishes her sentence he is beside her, very close. She leans into him; he does not object but his limbs freeze to his side in something only slightly short of panic.

“I’m sorry,” she offers after a moment. “I didn’t mean to speak so out of turn.”

“Lady Estellise.”

She rests her head against his chest for the briefest of moments before pushing away from him and through the threshold. She bows her head and closes the door slowly, her eyes fixed on him until he is out of sight.

* * *

  
Flynn’s platoon leaves the capital on several patrols in the following weeks; routine work, but something that keeps him from the castle for several days at a time. He sees the princess only a few moments in passing in that time; she brightens to him but only for a precious second, slaying her emotions just as quickly under the watchful eye of her escorts. He tries to ignore the nagging thought in his head, the desire to share some private discussion with her again. He wants to berate himself for the distraction, but the criticisms in his head hold no weight in his heart, and by their third incidental meeting he can no longer deny that the separation from her is becoming unbearable.

The third patrol is over and his platoon is racing across the plains in pre-dusk hours, trying to beat the sunset to Zaphias to avoid spending another night outside the barrier. They are perhaps an hour from the capital when a pack of wolves surprises them from behind: more in number than Flynn has seen of the creatures and nearly rabid in their ferocity. His platoon is well-trained, but the monsters know no quarter. For each one felled by sword or spear two more jump to take its place, their rage insatiable.

Flynn is back-to-back with a bishop, she casting long-range attacks while he dispatches the monsters that draw close. A particularly large wolf lunges at him and snags Flynn’s sword in its jaws, starts to worry it. Flynn crushes the beast’s head with a blow from his shield and yanks the blade free, but the diversion has left his flank open. The bishop yells something but is quickly cut off; another monster blindsides Flynn and knocks him to the ground with enough force to blur the edges of his vision. It tears into him in his daze, searching for the vulnerable joints in his plate armor. The larger wolf recovers from its temporary stun and jumps over them both and onto the bishop: a spray of red, a horrible scream. Flynn drags himself upright with the one wolf still clinging to his shield arm, thrusts his sword toward the other and runs it straight through. Momentum drags him to his knees and the wolf clinging to his arm takes a sudden keen interest in his exposed neck. The fangs break the skin but a nearby halberd spears the beast and it dies before it can fully close its jaws. Flynn stumbles away from the corpse and seeks out the bishop.

Her midsection took the brunt of the attack without the protection of armor and she is severed from sternum to navel. The wound is bleeding in a torrent. Flynn exchanges a quick glance with the halberd; the man nods in wordless understanding and readies his weapon, watching their back. Flynn sinks to one knee into his magic circle and his hands hover over the bishop’s body. The formula flashes behind his eyes and he focuses on it, though the adrenaline is thick in his throat and he can barely manage the incantation. The spell coalesces urgently, surges from his blastia as if the magic has gone septic inside him and it falls onto the bishop in waves. The spell is barely enough to staunch the bleeding, but he can only hope it is enough to save her life as the monsters drag him right back into the fray.

The last monster falls with the sunset and Flynn’s ragged party counts their losses in darkness. Flynn tends to the lesser casualties himself with his rudimentary artes while the remaining bishop focuses solely on her gravely wounded counterpart. He does not let the platoon rest any longer than necessary and pushes them toward the capital as soon as their seriously wounded member is stabilized. The guards at the city gates send word to the castle at first sight of their ragged group and Alexei is waiting for them as they struggle into the castle. The commandant dismisses the platoon, orders the injured to the infirmary, and scatters curious onlookers with a stern reprimand, all while pulling the lieutenant aside.

“See yourself to the infirmary.”

“I’m fine, sir.” Flynn’s steady tone conforms to the lie, but the hitch in his posture does not. “Debrief me now, I’ll get treatment later. There are others that need it more than I do right now.”

Alexei stares pointedly. “As you wish.”

A mutual decision is made to have the debriefing in Flynn’s room and the Commandant does not even voice one question before the door bursts open, with it a cacophony of voices. Estellise tears into the room like a streak of light and two members of the Royal Guard are in close pursuit. They pause at the threshold in response to Alexei’s surprised exclamation and defer to their commanding officer. The princess nearly shoulders the Commandant aside in her blind haste and throws herself against Flynn. Her momentum upsets his balance and he collapses backward onto the bed, his body frozen in a mixture of pain and surprise.

“Flynn.” She buries her head against his shoulder, her voice thick with emotion. She seizes both of his arms above the elbow and the ferocity of her grip radiates through his skin down to his fingertips. Flynn barely has time to process her sudden appearance when he feels the hum of a magic circle in close proximity and her healing arte slams into him like a force of nature, flashes stars across his vision. She gasps for breath from the effort of it and collapses against him; he wraps his arms around her out of reflex and rests in blissful ignorance for a fraction of a second before reason takes over and he becomes acutely aware of the Commandant’s disapproving glare pointed dangerously in his direction.

He is torn between pushing her away and holding on to her for dear life and knows that either action condemns him regardless. Estellise recovers after a moment and suddenly redoubles her grip, prepares another healing arte before Flynn can force his tongue to work.

“Your Highness.” Alexei’s words fail to reach her. He steps closer to the pair and repeats himself with more force: “Lady Estellise.”

Estellise stumbles back to reality like a sleepwalker. The spell dissolves on her lips and her eyes focus on Flynn and his stricken expression for a hapless moment before the Commandant’s authoritative presence draws her attention. She tries to fling herself away from Flynn but his grip is stronger than either of them are anticipating and she cannot escape the cage of his arms. Flynn sputters in surprise and his arms fall like dead weight a second too late. Estellise straightens and assumes a courtly expression, though the intense color on her cheeks betrays her.

“Alexei,” she says at length, hopes the levelness of her voice will purge his memory.

Alexei bows to her, replies with the tact of a consummate soldier: “I am sure the lieutenant appreciates your concern, Your Highness, but we have much left to discuss.”

“I… yes.”

The Commandant offers his arm to her and she takes it hesitantly, casts a regretful glance at Flynn before allowing Alexi to pull her to her feet and lead her toward the door. Alexei passes the princess off to the Royal Guard with hushed, terse orders, and waits several seconds after they depart to turn back to his subordinate.

“Lieutenant.”

The tone is as sharp as a knife and galvanizes Flynn to his feet. He snaps to attention. “Sir?”

“I trust you are not taking advantage of Her Highness’s good graces?”

The question is innocuous on its surface but Flynn can sense the trap being laid and treads carefully: “Never, sir.”

“It appears you have made quite an impression on Lady Estellise.”

Flynn presents arms, his salute exceptionally precise: “Sir, I apologize—”

“As you were.”

His hand returns slowly to his side at the reprimand and he curtails his words.

“Her use of healing artes is--” Alexei considers his words for a moment “--a royal secret, known to only a privileged few. I hope you do not abuse this knowledge, lieutenant.” The Commandant accepts Flynn’s decisive expression as affirmation of the command. “As for the circumstances behind this … we will talk later. Report to me in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Commandant nods to dismiss him and leaves the room in silence. Flynn maintains himself for only the briefest moment before he sags back onto the bed and buries his head in his hands, slumps his shoulders against the tremendous weight of Alexi’s words. He lets the silence pound at his ears, focuses only on his beating heart in order to keep from screaming.

“…Flynn?”

Her sudden presence does not surprise him. He glances toward her without moving his head. “Lady Estellise.”

“Oh, Flynn. I’m sorry, I was just so worried, when I heard you were hurt I—”

He raises his head from his hands at last. She is staring intently, eyes wide and glassy.

“It’s alright.”

“But-!”

“I’m fine.” He watches her expression darken with skepticism and continues: “Thank you, for healing me.”

She bows her head. “What about Alexei?”

Flynn laughs despite himself and his breath hitches in his chest; the grimace that flashes across his face is not entirely the Commandant’s doing. Estellise moves without thinking, faces him in a half-crouch with her hands on his shoulders. Flynn manages to snag her left wrist as she starts casting and pulls her hand away.

“Please, don’t—” he trails off as he notices her face blanch several shades. “Your Highness?”

The magic circle dissipates. She pulls her hand away from his slowly; the motion draws Flynn’s gaze downward and he takes sight of her bare wrist as she curls one hand within the other and tucks both close to her chest. He stares for a moment, unsure of the question rattling in his tired brain until his eyes give him confirmation: her blastia is gone, though faint sparks of light still stand out around her, the remains of her interrupted magic circle.

 _A royal secret_ echoes in Flynn’s head. Numerous emotions are at war on Estellise’s face. She glances down at her concealed hands for only a second and steps away from him suddenly, eying him askance. “I… I’m sorry.”

She flees; Flynn stares at vacant air for an astonished second before he calls after her, but she is gone.


	3. Chapter 3

The door to Alexei’s office opens underneath Flynn’s knuckles and he knocks at empty air; the Commandant’s assistant Khroma regards him coolly, does not acknowledge him with words but instead calls over her shoulder.

“Lieutenant Scifo to see you, sir.”

“Send him in.”

The Krityan steps aside to admit him and leaves the room as soon as Flynn enters, pulling the door shut in lieu of a farewell.

Alexei does not look up from the sheaf of papers in his hand until Flynn approaches the desk. He lowers the document only after the lieutenant stands at ease and he spends several moments straightening the pages before he acknowledges his subordinate.

“Thank you for reporting to me so promptly, lieutenant. Shall we continue where we left off?”

“Yes, about the monsters—“

“As far as your debrief is concerned,” Alexei cuts him off. “I expect a full report in one week’s time, including the patrol and the events after it. I am much more interested in what happened last night.”

The statement freezes Flynn in place. “Sir, I—“

“What an unusual situation. Your captain has always spoken so highly of you. I did not object to your promotion—despite your age and your background—because I, too, took notice of your dedication. And here I find you, a lieutenant for scarcely a season, and already a favorite of our own princess.”

The commandant’s tone is frighteningly calm, which only adds to Flynn’s concern. He shudders to attention: “Sir, the misconduct has been all mine, and I am—“

Alexei waves one hand dismissively. “You are a capable soldier with the potential to become one of my finest knights. All I ask is that you do not allow yourself to become distracted.”

Any reply sticks in Flynn’s throat: here he is, practically confessing, admitting to something that should strip him of his knighthood, only for the commandant to acknowledge it as insignificantly as a budget report.

“Sir, I’m not sure I understand…”

“I will be blunt, Flynn. There is a shortage of good knights of rank in the Empire. I give more precedence to your military prowess than I do to any fault I find in your indiscretion. I only ask that you curtail any… feelings you may have for Her Highness. Your duties to the Empire lie elsewhere. A simple request, I am sure?”

Flynn swallows hard, because it is far from simple, has not been simple since the day he met her. “Yes, sir.”

“Very good. One week on that report, lieutenant. By the bye,” he adds while returning to the sheaf of papers. “I stopped by the infirmary after our meeting last night. Your bishops spoke very highly of you, as did the healers there. It seems your First Aid spell likely saved the girl’s life. I applaud your desire to broaden your artes. Not many possess such drive.”

“Thank you, Commandant.”

Flynn cannot be sure that he actually sees a predatory glare flash across Alexei’s features; it fades into a stony expression before he can truly focus on it.

“Lady Estellise has taught you well.” Alexei’s tone is all the more disconcerting for its impassiveness. He snaps his attention back to the papers in his hands to indicate the matter is closed. “Dismissed.”

* * *

Flynn is busy with administrative duties for next three days, so much so that he only visits the training ground briefly before each shift. He lingers as long as he can, motionless and with his sword held loosely in his hand, watching. This garners curious looks from the other occupants, hushed whispers at his back that fall on deaf ears.

Each day when he reports for his shift he does not resent the monotony of the clerical work because it affords him access to places in the castle that would otherwise be beyond his pay grade. His tasks in the more principal parts of the castle place him among Council Members, Royal Guard, and members of the royal household, but he does not find the princess among them, not even a hint of her presence or mention of her name.

Concern grows colder and heavier in his chest each day he does not see her; he briefly entertains the notion that she is intentionally avoiding him, given how they last parted, but his heart balks at the idea. His second-in-command finds him battling said emotions after the third unsuccessful attempt at reconnoiter, sitting alone in the dining hall long after evening mess. Flynn does not have an answer for her when she asks how long he has been there. Sodia is not one for subtlety and he can easily read in between the lines when she offers to train with him the next morning. He accepts the offer with every intention of devoting his attention to the exercise; Sodia is as sharp with a blade as she is with her tongue. Sparring with her demands all his focus, something he unable to provide when he meets with her before their shift. His thoughts wander along with his eyes, searching the edges of the room even as Sodia charges at him with a furious blows.

Her sword clangs against his flank and he gasps in surprise, draws his arm against his side; the armor deflects the blow but does little to block the pain blossoming from the impact. Sodia lowers her sword and eyes him speculatively, her face a mixture of concern and annoyance.

“You are distracted.”

Flynn steps away from her and sheathes his sword, scrubs one hand against his brow and stares into the distance. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“You can’t keep your eyes off that corner.” Sodia motions with her head to the closed-off area of the yard where Estellise takes her lessons. “Are you expecting someone?”

Flynn debates telling her for a fraction of a second but reins in his tongue with a shake of his head. The knowledge of his relationship with Lady Estelllise is a burden he will bear alone, especially with Alexei looming behind him like a shadow. The Commandant has miraculously forgiven him, but he doesn’t dare test the man’s patience on someone else. “No, it’s fine. Forgive me, Sodia.”

Her default expression is always a serious one and the present moment is no exception, though a multitude of unasked questions temper her voice. “You have not been yourself since we returned to the castle.”

“Don’t worry. The Commandant has asked a great deal of me, that is all.”

“If it’s something I can help with—”

“Sodia. It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, though I do appreciate it.” He rolls his shoulder and grimaces against the knot in his side—already the bruise feels hot against his armor. “Thanks for the practice.”

* * *

The castle is up in arms only hours later, every knight to his post, though Flynn is deep in the report Alexei has requested and does not notice the state of chaos until his Captain nearly knocks down his door.

“We’ve got a situation, Scifo. Commandant wants every knight in motion out here and that includes you.”

“What is it?”

His Captain looks particularly grave. “It seems Lady Estellise hasn’t been seen since this morning.”

Flynn successfully hides his disquiet only after a lengthy inward battle: “I see.”

“Aye, the Commandant is asking for you personally. He’s in the audience chamber, has set up a base of operations there. Get on it quick. Then you’re to join me in searching the east wing, provided he doesn’t have other orders for you.”

Flynn threads his way through the halls, fighting down a rising panic with every step; Estellise’s distance over the past several days weighs heavy on him now. The rational part of his brain assures him there is some logical explanation for her disappearance, though another, darker thought deep inside gnaws at him with needle-sharp teeth.

The doors to the audience chamber are thrown wide; Alexei is clustered with several knights, engaged over a map of the castle spread across a table. Several council members lurk to one side, silent, their expressions knit with disapproval.

Alexei acknowledges Flynn as the latter draws close, dismisses the other knights to their duties until only he and the lieutenant remain.

“You’ve been informed of the situation, then?”

“Only in brief.”

The Commandant turns his back to the councilmen and motions Flynn closer, lowers his voice.

“You don’t know anything?”

Flynn bristles at the accusation, though he swallows his vitriol. “I have not seen Her Highness since last week, sir.”

“I see. Forgive me, but that would have made the current situation … easier to rectify, as it were.”

“Her Highness has not been seen since this morning?”

“Correct. Her absence was not noticed for several hours. There was a… lapse. We have no immediate evidence to suggest something untoward, but we cannot ignore her disappearance all the same. Since you have no further information you may return to your brigade.” Alexei consults the map with a flick of his eyes: “east wing, was it?”

“Sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Something nags at Flynn’s brain as he makes his way to the east wing, a persistent voice calling as if from a great distance. He diverges from his path at the intersection that would take him toward the east wing and descends the stairs, follows the route he had once walked with Estellise in reverse. There are no knights searching here; the thrum of activity fades away as he reaches the training field, the area itself deserted save for one person. Flynn offers a brief thank you to the voice in his head and keeps his pace a measured march as he crosses the grounds.

Estellise is kneeling with her back to him, delicate blue skirts gathered around her. She is staring into the distance as if distracted and does not notice his approach until he is nearly beside her. Flynn settles next to her on the ground, disturbing a cloud of dirt. He drapes his arms over his steepled knees and joins her in admiring an invisible point somewhere far away in silence.

“Hello, Flynn,” she offers after a while, unnaturally timid given their previous interactions.

“You’ve caused quite a stir.” It is not a reprimand, rather an attempt to mitigate the tension. “Quite a few people are very worried about you.”

She slowly looks down at her hands and Flynn follows her lead: she is wearing the blastia again, though the fingers of her right hand tease over it almost nervously.

“I’m sorry. Were you worried about me?”

Flynn does not answer in the affirmative but she must read it in his expression because her eyes find the ground.

“I’m sorry.”

He grapples with a dozen things to say, platitudes that seem empty and questions that seem wrong. “I’m just glad you’re safe,” he says at last, quietly.

He can see the slight twinge of a smile in her profile but she does not respond, keeps her gaze averted.

“Why are you out here, Your Highness?”

“... I like this place.” Unspoken: _it makes me think of you._

“Longing for that freedom again?”

Her entire body shudders in response and her restraint escapes her; she turns to him, voice desperate. “They kept me confined to my room, Flynn, all this time. I couldn’t even send a message to you!”

“They? Who?”

“... The Council. I don’t know how they found out, one of the Royal Guard must have told them. ‘Conduct unbecoming of the princess’”, she quotes, though she seems too tired to add any derision to the words. “I was so worried about you, but nobody would tell me anything. I finally found my guards looking the other way, and I ran. I couldn’t risk looking for you in your room, not when I knew they would all be looking for me, so I came here. I… hoped you would know where to find me, eventually.”

Something akin to indignation flares in Flynn’s chest as he listens to her words. He can not reconcile the Council’s treatment of her; she is  all innocence and grace, acting only out of concern for him.

“Lady Estellise, I—I’m fine. The Commandant has seemingly … let what happened slide. I should have tried to speak to you, I’m sorry. I figured you were upset, given what happened.”

The memory stirs and Estellise frowns, glances down at her hands again: “oh.”

Flynn struggles with the question, the words unwieldy in his mouth. “Your blastia…?” He manages only in part before his resolve wavers.

She sighs, depreciating, “I wasn’t entirely truthful with you when I said I taught myself healing artes. I’ve… I’ve always known how to use them. The formulas… they aren’t the same as the ones in the books but somehow I’ve always known them.” Her fingers return to the blastia, resume their nervous touch. “I don’t use this blastia. I never have. I ran because I figured when you saw, you’d …” she trails off, voice defeated. “I was presumptuous, I’m sorry.”

This final apology awakens something in Flynn at last. He reaches for her, grasps her hands and draws both of them close; the movement pulls her into him and she sinks against his chest, stares up at him as her body comes to rest. He seeks her left hand and encircles her wrist gently; the gold filigree shines in stark relief to the metal of his gauntlet and he glares at the bracelet, fire in his eyes.

“Flynn?”

“Don’t,” he replies, almost a growl. “Don’t apologize any more.”

“I’m—“ she stops herself from finishing. “Okay.”

“It doesn’t matter how you use your artes. This blastia does not determine who you are. Only a fool would see it differently.”

“Flynn…”

“Estellise.”

She draws a quick breath in surprise; were his expression not so serious she might have allowed herself to laugh. She holds his gaze, his eyes so perfectly blue and fiercely resolute that she almost forgets to breathe. “Thank you.”

The ferocity wanes: “for what?”

This time she does laugh, though gently and without malice. “You called me Estellise.”

Flynn’s heart rattles around his throat, frantically trying to escape the terror that has taken residence in his chest. “I—”

“I don’t mind,” she replies in a decrescendo. She twists her wrist and intertwines their fingers, lets their hands fall together against her chest; Flynn never takes his armor for granted but he despises it at the moment, feeling her only through the metal and the hardened leather. He clings to even that muted presence like a piece of serenity within madness, though his thoughts have never been clearer than they are right now, right here, with her. Estellise seems hesitant to speak, and Flynn unwilling, as if the silence is a sacrosanct thing, too precious to break.

“What should we do?” She speaks into his shoulder at last, words muffled and hesitant.

“I should probably take you to Alexei.”

He can’t see the disappointment flash across her face but he can feel it; it settles around her like an aura.

“I suppose you’re right,” she says distantly, distracted, but makes no attempt to move.

“Lady Estellise?”

“Hm?”

“Well, what do you want?”

She pushes away from him suddenly, turns to face him with the most peculiar expression; Flynn answers with a frown of concern and is about to speak before she cuts him off. “I—no, it’s fine.” She stands abruptly, brushes the dirt from her skirts as Flynn joins her. “I’m ready.”

* * *

Alexei is deep in discussion with his assistant in the audience chamber and Flynn feels the temperature of the room drop as the Commandant’s eyes fixate on him. A ghost of a smile flashes across Alexei’s face before he settles into a perfect expression of neutrality. The transition is enough to set off alarm bells in Flynn’s head, but he continues his steady pace across the room for Estellise’s sake; he can sense a frantic energy radiating off her in waves, a cornered animal ready to run.

Alexei glances quickly at Khroma and the Krityan excuses herself to a respectable distance. He turns back to the duo before him and scrutinizes them for an inordinate amount of time.

“Lady Estellise.”

She bows instinctively to him, any hope for defiance squashed upon hearing her name.

“I am relieved to see you returned to us. Come,” he reaches for her and she gives her hand to him involuntarily. Alexei guides her away from Flynn and to his own side; she sighs quietly and her eyes linger on Flynn for a forlorn moment before sliding to the floor.

“Lieutenant?”

Flynn keeps his tone noncommittal: “It is my pleasure to serve the empire, sir.”

“Your dedication to your duty is admirable, as always.”

Flynn hesitates perhaps a second too long; Alexei waves him away with an impatient hand. “You may leave us, lieutenant. Khroma?”

The Krityan is suddenly between themi, though Flynn did not see her move; he starts in surprise but her demeanor does not change.

“Come with me.”

Alexei waits for several moments after the pair departs before he rounds on Estellise.

“Your Highness. We simply cannot have you running off to fulfill your every whim.”

She winces. “I’m sorry, Alexei, I—”

“All the resources wasted, only to find you gallivanting with the lieuten—”

“Flynn is not to blame!” She interrupts Alexei with enough force to give him pause; her eyes fly upward and fixate on him, her expression fierce. “I… it was my decision.”

“And yet, of all the knights searching for you, _Flynn_ is the one who brings you to me.”

The inflection he places on the name reminds Estellise of how much the Commandant knows and exactly how much power he holds over her, over them both.

Her lips tighten in a frown that barely contains her anguish. “You don’t under—“

“I understand quite well, Your Highness. I dare say the two of you have made it quite… obvious.”

Her brief show of confidence evaporates and her eyes flee from his face.

“Very well,” Alexei continues. “You needn’t worry yourself about the lieutenant, your highness. He is valued for his service to the Empire. Princess, I do not presume to lecture you any more on the subject. I can forgive you both for your youthful indiscretions because the lieutenant is such an asset to our cause. I trust you can see the folly in distracting him?”

“…Yes.”

“The Council acts with your best interests in mind, though their methods are… extreme.” Alexei moves away from her and toward a side door and admits a member of the Royal Guard. ”I will advocate on your behalf as the leader of the knights for leniency, will that suffice?”

Meekly: “thank you, Alexei,”

“Splendid. Escort her to her room,” the latter he says to the Royal Guard. Estellise follows the man, silent and defeated.

Khroma materializes in the main doorway a moment later. “I do not believe the foolish girl will listen to your commands; the lieutenant either, for that matter.”

Alexei eyes her askance as she approaches, lip curled in a smirk. “I am fully aware of that.”

“Oh? Do you intend—?”

“It is an interesting development, but one I believe I can use to my advantage.” The Commandant returns her stare with a wickedness to his features, shadows of something menacing he only displays in private. “Indeed. The princess is perfectly malleable, and Scifo… what lengths will he go to now that he is so emotionally invested?”

Khroma does not make a move to answer, merely studies him, and Alexei ponders the question in silence.


End file.
